


Countdown

by oxymoroning



Category: Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Grantaire pov, M/M, New Years, Second POV, some hints at smoking, theres drinking and descriptions of being drunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 05:59:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17238713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oxymoroning/pseuds/oxymoroning
Summary: Your roommates had offered your apartment to host your friends’ New Year party... It wouldn’t have been a problem if you hadn’t already had plans to find some seedy bar, drink with strangers until you couldn’t see straight, and be passed out before dawn.





	Countdown

**Author's Note:**

> mm okay so ive never posted fanfiction before also im drunk while revising and posting this i love e/r goodnight

_          Ten _ . Your roommates had offered your apartment to host your friends’ New Year party. It wouldn’t have been a problem, except you’d only found out the morning of (although Joly insists it had been discussed for the past week). It also wouldn’t have been a problem if you hadn’t already had plans to find some seedy bar, drink with strangers until you couldn’t see straight, and be passed out before dawn. While Joly had tidied your small apartment, Bossuet dropped you his keys, leaving you in charge of refilling your alcohol pantry.

 

_Nine_. As the night filed in, so did your friends. You, on the other hand, were stretched out on your floor, holding a healthy amount of vodka you had stashed under your bed for a good occasion. You were only satisfied once the chaos outside turns into a dull hum, and even then, you took a final swig to fill your core with the comforting warmth of alcohol, before shakily picking yourself up and join the social event, still gripping the glass bottle with white knuckles. Most of the party had congregated in the living room, ignoring the television droning in the background as they laughed and updated each other up on their recent holiday happenings. Through the blur of ugly holiday sweaters, you caught Éponine, who waved you into the kitchen. She hopped down from her perch on the counter, and thankfully for your sense of sight, she’d worn a black turtleneck as opposed to the flashy green and reds your friends had donned in an attempt to get the most out of the last chance to their seasonal buys.

         “Hey stranger,” she greeted, patting your back and pulling your bottle to her lips and tipping her head back before handing it back to you. “Ép,” you greeted, pulling yourself a seat at the small table which already started wear down, despite the fact you’d only bought it a month before. “You’re not going to sit with everyone else? I’m pretty sure Marius is here somewhere." She only shook her head, “I’m not drunk enough yet to watch him and his little  _ lark _ ,” and you had to laugh at her childish disdain for Cosette, who, truthfully, had been nothing short of sweet to you since she’d started dating Marius. “Besides,” Éponine continued, “You’re the one who’s been in his room since I got here and somehow still comes out drunker than anyone else here. Ever fancy yourself an alcoholic R?” You shook your head, “Most alcoholics want to cut down on their drinking, and I have no intent to do that,” you deadpanned, but Éponine threw her head back with a guttural laugh. Any other day, you wouldn’t have referred to her anything other than ugly, maybe haggard if you were more pretentious, but now her high spirits seemed to illuminate her into a pretty thing. “Hey,” she said, nudging you, “Looks like your  _ Apollo _ is gracing us with his presence,” you followed her gaze to Enjolras, sitting with his legs stretched at the base of the large couch you’d scavenged when you first moved in. You gripped your bottle and took another swig.

_        Eight _ . You don’t know when you’d willed yourself to join the party, but you found yourself with your legs crossed on the carpet, sandwiched between Courfeyrac and Bossuet. Bossuet seems to be the only one paying attention to the muted television, while Courfeyrac was to your right, wearing the same plastic glasses he’d worn every New Year since you met him, and probably longer, since they were in the shape of ‘2006’ with the zeroes framing his eyes. He seemed engrossed in Enjolras’ phone, occasionally swiping his index finger over the screen. Once he grabbed his phone, you look over out of curiosity, and see what seems to be a dating profile. You couldn’t help but try to snub the bitterness that filled you, but Courfeyrac barked out a laugh, “Enjolras,  _ please _ tell me ‘FrenchLover sixty-nine’ is a joke.” He was nearly in tears over Enjolras’ unfortunate username, but Enjolras just swiped his phone back sternly. “I don’t see the problem with loving France, Courfeyrac.”

         “Okay but sixty-nine? That wasn’t an accident—”

         “It’s the moon landing!” 

         “Enjolras, since when do you care about the moon?” Courfeyrac asked with a cocked eyebrow and a sideways grin.

         “Because it’s the  _ Apollo _ mission.”

         You thought a smiling Enjolras should have been illegal. Admittedly, its effects may have been multiplied due to the fact that you hadn’t been around him enough lately to see a genuine expression of joy, but nevertheless your insides melted, and it reminded you that your unfortunate veneration for him hadn’t died out. You thought your admiration may have been fueled by his fiery passion for, well,  _ anything _ , and you should have probably been annoyed at least by his attitude. Instead, you had found it endearing, and had purposely fired him up with any interjection you could fit in. At some point, he seemed to embrace it, as it gave him an excuse to pour his heart out to whatever poor soul was in your company.

 

         Whatever chemistry you had seemed to fade when he came back from a study-abroad trip to his beloved France. During his six months stay, he must have lost patience for you, or maybe he’d realized there was an entire planet full of people better than yourself he could spend time with. Either way, every interaction you’d attempted since had been shut down immediately.

 

         You wanted to join in making fun of him, but you instead resigned yourself to watching while occasionally having yourself a hearty laugh at your leader’s unfortunate ignorance of the dating world. You stared at him as you take another drink, and for a second he looked back at you and you imagined he looked regretful.

 

_          Seven _ . You found yourself barely able to make distinctions between static noises and your friends. You also couldn’t tell if the fog filling the room was from your own inebriation or someone else’s, but the haze made you sleepy and you were about to pass out when Enjolras sat himself next to you. He has an unopened water bottle, which makes you think he had just returned from the kitchen and sitting next to you was purely incidental, and  _ of course _ he had water when everyone else was nursing some sort of booze. He didn’t address you, and his voice blended in with the rest of the party noises. You propped yourself on your elbow, transfixed by him, and you privately let yourself bask in his allure. You were never one for long-term relationships, opting instead to hook up, but you found yourself longing to be more intimate. You let yourself entertain the thought that if your situation were different, you could have had an apartment together by now. Maybe you would come home from a dead-end job but it wouldn’t matter because you’d be coming back to  _ Enjolras _ , and no matter how shitty your life was, you would have him to make it worthwhile and you wouldn’t have to stumble through life in a drunken stupor because you wouldn’t want anything more, and maybe next year you could be spending the holidays with his family—

         “What about you, R?”

         You were torn from your daydream by the party staring at you in anticipation. Your confusion must have been apparent because Bossuet nudged you. “We’ve all discussed our resolutions, what’s yours?”

         Everyone, including Enjolras, had their attention turned to you. You wished you could have lied something impressive like “saving more homeless cats,” or “building schools in Uganda,” but instead you said, “New Year’s resolutions are bullshit.” At least it got a kick out of Bahorel, and you knew you had probably put a damper on the atmosphere, but you couldn’t stop yourself from continuing, “Eighty percent of them fail within the first month, what’s the point? It’s just to make people feel better about their own failures by saying ‘Oh well, there’s always next year!’” To your surprise, Enjolras was the first to respond. Albeit, it’s to argue that, “The new year is about looking forward to the future and embracing change!” and what have you, but you were thankful for the acknowledgment anyway, and that it took some of the tension out of the room.

 

_          Six.  _ The conversation moved on, only slowing down when Cosette desperately shooshed the room as the final few minutes projected on the local news broadcasting the New Year’s Eve celebration.  She turned the volume up to hear whatever celebrity guest was featured, and the noise of the crowd through your speakers added to the noise of your apartment, making the space seem a lot more crowded. Ten minutes turned to five minutes, which turned to the final sixty seconds, and eventually the room was chanting, “Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven! Six…”

 

_          Five.  _ You weren’t staring at the television with the rest of the room. Your eyes found their place once more upon Enjolras’ profile. His blonde hair is so light it seems to be dyed by television’s technicolor. His eyes are bright too, sparked with excitement and you wonder if he really believed the new year he waxed so lyrically about. Before you realized it, the room is cheering, and Enjolras’ ethereal glow, exasperated by his own excitement, overtook you and you couldn’t stop yourself from leaning in and grabbing his face to yours hastily.

 

_          Four.  _ The rush of your own blood took over your senses, muting the fireworks and the reaction of the room around you. You pull away, or maybe Enjolras pushed you because when you face him, his mouth is agape and he seems surprised. Of course, he’s surprised, you just grabbed him and started sucking his face out of nowhere. “Enj, I—” He doesn’t let you finish as he stands up and excuses himself to get fresh air. You feel the room staring at you, and the comfortable heat starts to become unbearable. Everyone had fallen silent, either exchanging glances or looking at you with pity while only television drones on. 

         You debated following Enjolras outside, and at first you thought that’s where your legs would take you when you stood up with a stumble. Instead, you staggered to the kitchen as the world did its best to jostle you. Throwing open your cabinets, searching desperately for another drink, even though you could already barely stand, you cursed to yourself under your breath. Eventually you gave up on the drink, and gathered yourself in your arms against the counter, sinking you head into the crooks of your elbows. You didn’t know how long you stood like that when you felt a gentle hand on your back.

         “You should talk with him,” Combeferre said quietly, a comforting presence.

         “You and Courf are his best friends,” you mumbled into your arms, but you could feel Combeferre shift as he shrugged. “You know he’s going to want to discuss it anyway,” he pointed out, and you reluctantly realized he was right.

 

_          Three.  _ Enjolras ignored you push through the sliding door. You joined him, resting your elbows on the railing of the balcony, squinting against the bright fireworks that ring out the new year. You checked your pocket for a cigarette, but you realized you had left your pack inside along with your coat, which you started to regret. “Enjolras,” you murmured, trying to think of how you can even start to apologize, but he interrupted you quickly blurting out, “I’m sorry, Grantaire.” You gave him a sideways look, but he continued, “I didn’t mean to embarrass you in front of everyone, but I wasn’t expecting you to—” he bit hard on his jaw, and you wanted to tease him that he couldn’t even say “kiss”, but for once you made a good decision to keep quiet. “It’s just a tradition, isn’t it? But I took it personally, but now that I look back it wasn’t—”

         “Enjolras, as much as I want to hear you say you’re wrong, it’s my fault.” You took a deep breath and exhale, watching the steam from your nose dissipate in the frosty air. “We haven’t really spoken that much since you got back and I guess kissing you probably wasn’t a great way to start.” To your surprise he actually laughed. “I apologize for that too, Grantaire. For being so distant, I mean. I hadn’t really thought about it until I saw you tonight.” You were unsurprised that he hadn’t been thinking about you, but you found comfort in the fact he had even apologized. You wanted to tell him you could never be upset with him, but that would probably open the floodgates and next thing you knew, you would be confessing your love under the fireworks, and that would have been too much like a romantic comedy for you. You instead stared straight into the cityscape and the bright lights twinkling back at you.

 

_          Two.  _ The fireworks were popping off in the distance with sharp cracks, the distant light reflecting off of Enjolras’ portrait. Anxiously twirling the soft curls he clenched his jaw and silently came to a resolution.“You know, I didn’t hate it,” he said quietly, then turned his gaze to you and his voice was the only thing that pulled your gaze from the horizon. “I mean the kiss. Or kissing you,” he exhaled another breathy laugh, “It probably would have been more enjoyable if you’d given me a warning, but it wasn’t that bad either.” You were tempted to ask if you were in a dream but instead you asked, “Could I do it again?” and to your relief he nodded.

 

_          One.  _ It was a lot harder to kiss Enjolras when he was anticipating it. He seemed stiff when you lean in, and you had to ask, “Are you sure you want to do this?” He responded by leaning forward and pecking your lips before going in again to kiss you for real. The fireworks seemed to be inside you now, threatening to explode in your chest. It was a lot more pleasant that time, and the warmth stemming from your contact got you to abandon the idea that you should have grabbed a coat.

 

         You welcome the new year kissing the man you’ve been pining for years, and it definitely beats drinking alone.


End file.
